The days blurred together, each one feeling indistinguishable from the last. Time had lost its meaning in the suffocating darkness of the dungeon, and so had my will to fight. But there was one thing I couldn't ignore: hunger.
I felt it gnawing at me with a brutal relentlessness, reminding me of my vulnerability, my weakness. My stomach was a hollow pit, aching with every passing moment. The food I'd been offered—stale bread, a bowl of soup, fruit that had lost its vibrancy—had been untouched. I could not bring myself to eat it. Not yet. Not after everything that had happened. The food felt tainted, as if it carried a silent, hidden meaning, something that belonged to Lucian and his twisted games.
Despite the ache in my stomach, despite the insistent growl of my body begging for sustenance, I refused. Pride. Fear. Anger. It was all tangled up, and my stubbornness kept me from giving in to the desire to eat.
Not yet.
The cold stone walls seemed to close in on me, their oppressive weight making it hard to breathe. Every time I breathed in, I could smell the dampness, the rot of the dungeon. The air tasted stale. I longed for fresh air, for sunlight, for the freedom I had once known. The memory of the forest, the rustling of the leaves, and the soft chirps of crickets felt like a distant dream. A nightmare.
The door to my cell creaked open, and I snapped my head toward it, hoping for some sign of escape, some form of deliverance. But it wasn't Lucian.
It was one of his pack —someone I didn't recognize—holding a tray of food. His eyes were downcast, her lips thin with what could only be described as pity. He barely glanced at me as she set the tray down on the cold stone floor and then stepped back. The click of his boots echoed off the walls as he retreated, leaving me alone with the food she had brought.
I didn't look at it immediately. My stomach protested, but my gaze remained fixed on the space around me, my fingers wrapped tightly around the cold chains that bound me. They were my only companions in this prison, and they had become an extension of myself.
When I finally dared to look at the tray, I found the food unappetizing: a slice of bread that had gone hard and stale, a bowl of watery broth, and a few limp pieces of fruit. It wasn't much, but it was something.
Still, I didn't reach for it.
"I'm not hungry," I muttered under my breath, more to myself than to anyone else.
A soft sound—a shuffle of feet—made me look up. The man was gone, leaving me in my isolation once more. The silence enveloped me, thick and suffocating.
Hours seemed to stretch into eternity. The hunger became unbearable, each breath punctuated by the painful gnawing inside my stomach. My body was weakening, but my pride refused to bend. I would not eat if it meant giving Lucian what he wanted—control. That was what he sought from me, wasn't it? To break me down, to make me a puppet, controlled by his whims.
Then, suddenly, the soft sound of footsteps. A familiar rhythm. The door creaked open, and I didn't need to guess who it was.
Lucian.
He filled the space, his broad figure blocking out most of the dim light. He stood in the doorway, his eyes locking onto mine with the intensity of a predator assessing its prey. His gaze didn't waver, didn't soften. It was cold, calculating.
"Still refusing?" he asked, his voice deep, rich, and unmistakably commanding.
I said nothing. What could I say? There was no use denying it. He could see it on my face, in the trembling of my hands. I could feel my hunger, my body weakening. But I refused to let him see that he had power over me.
"You're starving," he said, his voice carrying a dark amusement. "And yet, you refuse to eat. Why? Do you think I'll let you die down here?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
Lucian stepped closer, his boots clicking against the stone floor, the sound echoing in the silence. He loomed over me, his presence suffocating. He picked up the tray of food, his fingers curling around the edges with that same unyielding strength I had come to fear.
"You will eat," he said, his voice low and unwavering. "Whether you want to or not."
I lifted my chin, trying to summon some defiance, some strength. "I'm not hungry," I replied, though my voice cracked under the weight of my words.
He crouched down in front of me, his eyes never leaving mine. The space between us was filled with tension, thick and suffocating. There was a slight shift in the air, a change in the dynamics. And I knew then, without a doubt, that I had lost this fight.
"I didn't bring you here to let you waste away," Lucian said, his words cold. "You'll eat because I tell you to eat."
I flinched at the sharpness of his tone, but I didn't break. He was trying to intimidate me, trying to bend me to his will. But I wasn't about to give in—not yet.
I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, pulling my knees up to my body as I shrank back against the wall. I could feel my pulse racing, the pounding in my ears deafening.
Lucian didn't move. He simply stared at me with those piercing eyes, watching me with a quiet intensity that made my skin crawl.
Then, slowly, he picked up the spoon, dipped it into the broth, and raised it to my lips.
"Open your mouth, Isabella," he ordered, his voice a soft but firm command.
I hesitated, my gaze flicking between his hand and his face. I wasn't sure what was worse: the hunger gnawing at me or the fear of what he might do next.
"I'm not going to beg you," I said through gritted teeth, my voice barely a whisper. "I'm not eating."
Lucian's lips quirked into a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You'll eat," he repeated, his voice dark and certain. "And if you don't, I'll make you wish you had."
I swallowed, my throat dry, but I refused to open my mouth.
"Are you threatening me?" I asked, my voice shaking slightly.
A cruel laugh escaped Lucian's lips. "You're already dead, Isabella, if that's what I wanted. But I don't want you dead yet. Not yet."
His words sent a chill through me. Not yet.
He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against my ear. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead already. But you're not. Not yet."
His presence was overwhelming. He was everywhere—his warmth, his smell, his voice. It was as if he was inside my mind, wrapping himself around me, suffocating me.
I opened my mouth, just a little. I had no choice. I couldn't fight anymore. The hunger was too strong. He spooned the broth into my mouth, and I swallowed it reluctantly. It was warm, comforting, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was swallowing something more—something far darker than food.
"You'll never break me, Lucian," I said, my voice quiet but defiant.
His eyes gleamed as he held the spoon steady, watching me closely. "We'll see about that."
I closed my eyes, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear. I didn't know what I wanted anymore—freedom, escape, or simply the comfort of knowing that the hunger would stop.
But Lucian had won. For now.
He fed me, one spoonful after another, each bite a little more bitter than the last.
When he finally stood up, he towered over me, his gaze never leaving mine. "You'll eat, Isabella. Whether you want to or not. Because I will make sure you do."
I glared up at him, my heart pounding in my chest, my body still trembling from the tension in the air.
"I don't belong to you," I said through clenched teeth.
Lucian's smile widened, but it was empty, devoid of any warmth. "Not yet. But soon."
With that, he turned and left, the door closing behind him with a resounding finality. The dungeon was silent again, but this time, the silence felt even more suffocating.